Shattering Realities
by Constable Remington
Summary: Harry Mason gets a phone call late one night and finds his reality shattered. One shot, short. Please R&R!


Dark and silent, the apartment sat quietly as the night crawled on. It was a small, cheap apartment, with a small kitchenette, a living room, and two bedrooms, each with a bathroom. A father and daughter lived there, alone, both sleeping quietly with the windows shut tight on such a cold night. Snow was falling steadily outside as the seventeen-year-old girl slept in her bed, covers pulled tight around her. Across the small living room, a man slept lightly in his bed. The whole place seemed to ring with silence. Even the neighbors were being quiet. It was as if the entire world had simply stopped in its place.

And then, with a shattering sensation of breaking glass, the silence was pierced by the shrill, vexing ring of the phone, sitting on the man's desk beside his bed, sounding like a thousand smashing windows with each unbearable ring. The man snapped awake, sweat pouring down his face even though the room was freezing cold. Shaking, he rose slightly to stare at the phone, as if looking at it would make the ringing stop. However, it merely continued to ring. Staring slightly longer, he decided he would let the answering machine pick it up... anyone who called at this hour was probably not anyone he would want to talk to, and with no connections to anyone except his daughter, who was sleeping soundly in her bed, he knew it couldn't be an emergency... at least, not one which pertained to him in any way. Ring. Ring. Ring. He stuffed his head into the pillow. Just a few more rings, he thought. The machine will pick it up.

But the machine did not pick it up. The phone merely continued to ring. The man was beginning to grow worried. Slowly sitting up, he lifted a shaking hand and willed it to go towards the phone. Slowly his clammy hand wrapped around the receiver. He lifted it carefully from the base and, shaking, put it to his ear.

"H- Hello?" he asked. The voice coming from his lips sounded terrified and shivering... much unlike his own.

"Daddy?" a childlike voice answered. The man nearly dropped the phone.

"What?!" He cried, his stomach lurching. He felt sick. "Cheryl?!"

The voice changed suddenly, to a sickening deadly woman's voice, filled with hate and madness.

"Cheryl's gone. She's dead. You killed her."

"No!" He jumped up from his bed, clutching the phone tightly in his hand. "Who is this?!"

"It's your fault she's gone," the voice continued. "And we want her back."

"Leave me alone," he gasped. "Leave Heather and I alone!"

"Heather?" The voice laughed. "Don't you mean Alessa?"

"Stay away from me!" he screamed, slamming the phone down. He was hyperventilating, his hands shaking out of control. He rushed from the room, to his daughter's bedroom. Pulling the door open, he flicked the lights on. She was lying peacefully in her bed. As he entered the room, she stirred, slowly opening her eyes.

"Dad? What's going on? It's three o'clock in the morning."

"Heather..." he whispered. "Were you awake? Did you hear the phone just now?"

She stared at him through delirious, tired eyes for a moment or two.

"Dad, are you feeling okay? The phone hasn't rang all night..."

He stared at her for a moment. It's like his entire world was falling apart. He could hardly bear it. All around him, the glass shattered in the windows. Heather was gone. The floor beneath him turned to sharp, gory grating, cutting and biting into his bare feet in the night. The room filled with blood, thrown against the walls, tearing everything apart. He could hear screaming, and his eyes filled with tears, crumpling against himself as he realized that the screams were his own...

Heather jumped up from her bed.

"Dad?" she cried, rushing to her father and kneeling beside him. "Dad?! Are you okay?!"

And then everything was normal again as she placed her hand on his shoulder. The room faded back in, and it was warm... no smell of blood... and Heather was there... the sirens were fading away. He took deep, clensing breaths, slowly trying to stand.

"I'm... sorry, Heather," he muttered quietly. "I... You should get some sleep."

She simply stared back at him as he turned and walked from the room, shutting the door behind him.

"Dad..." she whispered quietly, tears coming to her eyes.


End file.
